


The Family Keep

by Aurora Cee (SC182)



Series: Family Values [1]
Category: American Horror Story: Murder House, Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character(s) of Color, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Family Secrets, Homophobic Language, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Pre-Slash, Racist Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:32:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/Aurora%20Cee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long time since she saw her son. With all that has happened, she intends to bring him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Family Keep

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: All American Horror Story episodes through 1.11. General FATF spoilers: nothing specific besides the characters existing.
> 
> Warning: Constance's casual racism
> 
> A/N: 1)This story involves a car accident leading to Brian being incapacitated. This story was written in 2011, well before PW's passing. So that's just a warning to prevent any readers from being triggered. 
> 
> 2) The inspiration for this story is once again: Brian's vague backstory. We have some breezy information about his absent father but absolutely nothing about his mother. And given Constance's missing fourth child, I decided to take some liberties. 
> 
> 3)[Get to know Constance Langdon from American Horror Story (S 1) here](https://www.tumblr.com/tagged/constance-langdon)  
> 

Her heels rapped out a deliberate cadence with every step. As she passed the plebeians lingering in the harshly halogen-lit halls, some took a glance or two at her while others out right stared at her with slightly cocked heads and slit eyes of veiled recognition. Was she an old starlet? Former model? Former beauty queen?  
  
Well, they would be right about the last one though she doubted any them had the good breeding to appreciate such pageantry or the manners to not stare. Her pashmina draped so elegantly about her shoulders was a remarkable red, so appropriate for a hospital with its deeply bloody shade. Over her white two-piece suit, she looked liked she’d been drenched in blood. Constance knew the image she presented; she’d planned her outfit quite deliberately to suit the occasion.  
  
If anyone tried to impede her from reaching her destination this day, then there would be blood. Literally.  
  
She came to a stop outside the room she’d been looking for and made quick, but unhurried, work of removing her shawl. For years she’d dreamed of this moment, and she would approach it looking like the true angel of the morning that she could undoubtedly be.  
  
Constance spared a slight withering glance at the ethnic riff-raff dallying near the door. It was one thing if they were be useful rather than loitering and congesting the halls, invariably putting lives at risk. How this city continued to function was beyond her.  
  
“This town’s going to the dogs,” Constance declared to herself, before turning her sights upon better things.  
  
She stepped inside the room, immediately laying her shawl down on the empty rollaway tray before approaching the hospital bed. Constance’s breath caught in her throat, “My dear perfect boy,” she whispered, “--it’s been…so long and terrible without you.”  
  
It had been so long, _so very long_ since she’d last seen him. Her fault and his frankly, but she would bear the majority of blame. That was what all good mothers did—bear the burdens of their children.  
  
Constance reached out to touch his face, her fingers trembling as they hovered over half healed cuts and scrapes. When her finger finally made contact, she gasped deeply, then exhaled a sigh laden in worry and relief. “This face. This perfect face…it will be fine again. And all  
we have to do is heal you up, then you’ll be perfect again.”  
  
Her son still looked like her and his father. Had her hair, she lamented upon seeing the close crop cut that sawn his curls down to their honey toasted roots. “—And you hair,” she began, mourning the desecration of one of his flawless attributes, “--why would you destroy such beautiful hair? I’ll have hides and scalps if they did this to you. Made you look so… _common_.”  
  
Constance touched his face, felt the cool, dry skin of his cheeks, and wished he would open his eyes. They were such beautiful eyes. They’d been one of the reasons she had to send him away.  
  
Tate had tried to rile her up by picking at her for his failings to be a perfect son. Constance had never asked him to be perfect, just to be good, and he’d failed—spectacularly. “But you didn’t even try, my sweetness. You just are, aren’t you? Just perfect as I always needed. Always wanted.” She stroked his face again, hoping to stir him to wakefulness. Because the only a sick boy really needed was his dear mother to care for him. “My Brian. As perfect as can be…save for that peculiar predilection for associating with the coloreds and south of the border guttersnipes.”  
  
She could use a cigarette to cut the tension. Damn hospital restrictions.  
  
“Excuse me?” A man’s voice, deep and hollow like old boiler, asked from behind her.  
  
Constance jumped, clutching her chest and her pearls, startled by the interruption, and turned a shrinking glare on the trio in the doorway--three from the hallway in the doorway: two men and a woman. All were various degrees of colored: all prerequisite indicators of friends pertaining to her son.  
  
She set her gaze on the big one, though the colored boy at his left looked vaguely familiar. “Excuse yourself,” she said, putting her back to the bedside railing and keeping a firm hand on her son. They wouldn’t take him from her again. “We don’t want to be interrupted, so kindly see yourselves out.”  
  
The big one with a bald head prowled towards her, stopping with a few feet between them. Constance Langdon had seen and done many things in her life, and this big street rat ranked among the least of what she’d encountered over the course of her life. He would not intimidate her.  
  
“This is a private room, ma’am,” he said, attempting to be polite. “I think you may be in the wrong place.”  
  
Not that she had to explain anything to _them_ ; Constance squared her shoulders and prepared herself to meet this irksome challenge head-on. “I assure you, Mr.--”  
  
“Toretto.” _Eye-Talian_. Interesting friends indeed. Probably connected to the mafia, though he looked nothing like the sharply dressed men in _The Godfather_.  
  
She continued, “I can assure you, Mr. Toretto, that I am in the right place and the right room with the right patient. I’m with my son.”  
  
Then, she heard the rumbling “no, no, no, no…” coming from the tattooed black boy. She knew that voice. “Roman Pearce, as I live and breathe.” She thought he’d be dead by now. It was something to be said that those statistics were wrong and all.  
  
Mr. Toretto and the girl looked at Roman with questions in their eyes. Roman shook his head vehemently. “You’re not his mother. I know Ms. Charity, she practically raised me. And if I remember it right, you’re just his aunt.”  
  
Roman Pearce and that rambling mouth of his needed to be stuffed like a leaky pipe. Constance had suffered too many losses in recent past to have to suffer a pack of fools as well.  
  
So she turned a razor sharp grin on them, “That makes me family more so than the likes of any of you.”  
  
Constance considered herself a patient woman, and she’d tried to teach her boy that running with the coloreds, Latins and Orientals would only lead to trouble. Her son, so willful just like her, had to experience the consequences and she need only look at him to see that he had learned that lesson the hard way. “Whether she—Charity, my sister—raised him and I birthed him, he is still my son, and I have come to do right by him finally.”  
  
The young woman stepped forward, a calming smile spreading across her sweet features. She was a beautiful gal if one was into the exotic variety. “Brian never told us about his mother. We would have called sooner.” She made a move to approach Constance, which Constance allowed along with a short affectionate hug.  
  
Brian wouldn’t have much cause to tell anyone about his family. She, her sister, Charity, and the long absent Michael O’Connor had seen to that. Her foolish pride had made her too shamed and stubborn to do right by the boy—her perfect boy, the dutiful son that had given her so much hope just by looking at him in these briefest of moments.  
  
Her sister might have been practically indifferent to Brian as a child, as she suffered from a severe case of buyer’s remorse upon receiving the child from Constance. And Mr. Michael O’Connor, talk about the luck of the Irish indeed; all smooth oil-like charm, good looks that belonged on the true silver screen and eyes so blue and steely that they’d made her knees shake and fall open to lay on the bed of promises he’d laid. For all she knew, the man could have been the devil. He was handsome enough to be one.  
  
The girl, not perturbed by Constance’s frost, touched her arm lightly and stepped back. “I’m Mia. That’s my brother, Dominic, and you already know Rome,” Mia said by way of introduction. “We’ve been here off and on since the accident.”It was heartening to see that her son could still cultivate such loyalty in those around him, even if the company wasn’t who she’d pick for him.  
  
“Well, it warms my heart to see that my son has such good friends--”  
  
“Family,” Dominic interjected.  
  
She smiled indulgently. This one—Dominic—was used to getting his way. This one, she didn’t like very much. He might prove a problem.”—surrounding him during his time of need.”  
  
As they said, God closed doors and opened windows instead, and finding her Brian counted as opening one very large window in her book. With her Beau, Adelaide and Travis gone, and Tate as unreliable as ever, she needed someone around. Needed new blood for when that baby decided to make its appearance in the world. Who better than her perfect son to help raise it? She just couldn’t have him dying on her first.  
  
“What’s his condition and has he woken up yet?” She inquired, making sure her voice faded to extra watery as she spoke. Sympathy always made people more cooperative, more susceptible to suggestion, and Constance was still one hell of an actress.  
  
Mia answered again, “The doctors are optimistic. They’re keeping him heavily sedated to manage the pain, so he’ll come around when the medication wears off.”  
  
Constance nodded, graciously accepting the news. She decided to round the bed then, put more space between them and her while still giving herself a view of her son. Her Brian looked so much like her, save for the eyes which seemed to be the only blessing that his serpentine scallywag progenitor had given him. Whereas her Tate looked like his father and participated in the same immoral illicit activities as him as well. Like father, like son, the old folks would say, which was why that hapless new child would need its Uncle Brian around.  
  
Now knowing his hopeful prognosis, she didn’t have to worry about taking him to the old house. Brian had never liked the old house. Had never really liked Tate actually. Maybe he’d seen what Tate would do all those years ago and steered clear.  
  
Constance smiled down at him, wishing he would wake up to see her here. “I always knew this day would come,” she voice lulled like the old Mississippi, dragging and winding around her words. “When it’s time, I’ll take him home.”  
  
“Home?” Roman and Dominic simultaneously erupted.  
  
“Yes, _home_. A place with four walls, perhaps more, and door, where families live together.”  
  
Dominic took exception to the suggestion. Extreme objection, it seemed. “Look, lady, this is the first time we’re meeting you, so I wouldn’t go making plans about taking him anywhere until Brian wakes up and says otherwise.”  
  
Oh, Dominic Toretto was tap-dancing on the fine line of her patience, and it was on the brink of wearing thin.  
  
She laughed huskily, keeping her eyes on all three. Let them see, she thought, that there was nothing more dangerous than a mother protecting her child. “There is so little you know,” she snickered, “And even more than I will not tell you. But I will say this: my blood is his blood and I take care of my own. Blood needs its kin to restore itself to well and order. I intend to do just that for Brian.”  
  
Though she didn’t have Larry anymore, she had a lawyer now, one that would do more than keep her out of handcuffs. Just from the looks of them, she was sure it wouldn’t take much to get Pearce and Toretto behind bars. The girl struck her as an innocent, but lion cubs were innocent too until they grew up and acquired extra long dagger-like teeth and claws. She would watch the girl, too.  
  
“There are many types of family, Mrs.--”  
  
“It’s _Miss_. Not Missus, Constance Langdon, Dominic.”  
  
“Ms. Langdon, blood isn’t all there is to family.”  
  
She could have rolled her eyes—almost had, in fact. “To the real ones, it does.”  
  
Which one was it, she wondered, that brought her son into this family? She already knew Pearce’s history with her son. The girl was the obvious answer, but Brian had always been a puzzle, a satisfying mystery to solve, and he wouldn’t do anything so mundane. Which left the one she didn’t like, a brute that had undoubtedly led her son afoul of trouble, and she could actually see the tension vibrating in those brickhouse muscles as her gaze rolled over him.  
  
 _Bingo._  
  
His eyes gave him away. Used to being unreadable, his eyes spoke venomous volumes as she hovered beside Briand and would have burned her if they could’ve just for touching him.  
  
“Don’t worry, Dominic. The last thing I would ever do is hurt my perfect boy. He’s been hurt more than enough for one lifetime. I only want to make it right, now that he’s recently become my last living child.”  
  
Constance knew men, knew the good ones from the bad and what the genuine ones were capable of. She would have to wait to see whether Dominic would turn out to be an ally or an enemy. Neither position fazed her. She knew how to deal with obstacles just as sure as he dealt with helping hands—she plowed right over them and took care of the rest with a shovel.  
  
Or a pistol.  
  
She wasn’t rusty at all with her shot. Constance taught Brian everything he knew about handling a gun. That was why he never missed and neither did she.  
  
Mia tried to diffuse the situation. “We’ll just have to wait until Brian wakes up to sort this out.”  
  
“Yes, dear, we will,” Constance agreed with the sweet gal, trying so hard to keep the peace. The Bible said blessed are the peacekeepers. Though from Constance’s experience, those same peacekeepers walked around with giant sticks up their asses and caused more than enough trouble until someone took the time to forcibly remove the offending stick. “I guess this also makes us family in a manner of speaking.” Her smile grew in indirect proportion to Dom’s darkening scowl.  
  
Neither liked the situation anymore than the other. It was obvious that Dominic wanted her to disappear again and she would rather return to the shithills of Virginia and become poor white trash than be saddled with this pack of miscegenated heathens. She was glad to know the feelings were mutual.  
  
“We’re family, all right,” Pearce muttered from the corner of his mouth, “the new Jackson family.”  
  
Dominic continued to look upon her distrustfully and she strategically retaliated with a charming smile, one so disarming and bright that he would undoubtedly see the resemblance between her and her sleeping son.  
  
The moment Dom’s obstinacy against her getting closer to her son lessened, Constance knew she’d won. With men, it was always about applying the right pressure, even with the homosexual ones. Chad and Patrick dissuaded her from thinking that the gays were always a happy people, but they could be just fierce as straights. And Dominic struck her as far more fierce than happy, though muscles could come in handy to protect their new addition.  
  
The four of them had time until Brian woke up, time that could be put to constructive purposes. “Why don’t I tell you stories about Brian’s brothers and sister? God bless ‘em, they were gone too soon. And you all can fill in the gaps on the adventures I’m sure I missed in our years of unfortunate separation.”  
  
Mia looked ready to take the leap, as did Roman. Dominic tried to be stubborn, tried to hold out under the assault of her smile and charm. Most men couldn’t resist and she doubted he would join the ranks of the few that could resist the Constance Langdon charisma.  
  
These people were only a minor inconvenience—a roadblock between her and her son—one that she would take care of like everything else. Out of previous tragedies came new hope: a son returned and babies to be born. She’d weathered the heartache and the sorrow, gracefully as ever, to find a bridge to new opportunities and the key to repairing past mistakes.  
  
Larry had been good for some things, like t-boning Brian at a stop light. It was the only time they’d been able to catch him…The boy always drove so fast. Irresponsibly so. She was simply relieved that Larry hadn’t managed to screw up the accident, like so many other things.  
  
One day, she would make Brian understand the sacrifices families sometimes made. They could be hard and difficult but in the end, it was because family had to keep its own. 


End file.
